His Walking Blood Bank: The Unwanted Wife

He stared at her, his jaw tight, looking like a predator challenged for its kill.

After a long, tense moment, he took out his phone again. "The takeover is on hold," he barked into the receiver. "Restore the credit lines to the Lancaster Group. Immediately." He ended the call, his gaze burning into Emilia.

He had conceded, but the defeat was a bitter pill. "Your family is safe," he said, his voice dangerously smooth, a promise of future retribution. "But the divorce is not happening. Not yet."

He strode to the door and said to the guard standing outside, Hank Kowalski, "From now on, Mrs. Gates is not to leave this estate. Not one step."

Emilia lunged forward, adrenaline flooding her veins, a furious protest exploding from her lips. "Delano! This is false imprisonment!" But two towering bodyguards, seemingly materializing from the shadows, blocked her path with silent, resolute efficiency. Their massive frames and impassive faces made her physical predicament abundantly clear, yet Emilia's gaze only grew colder and more determined.

He turned around, a smug smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. His eyes swept over her, icy and possessive. "To ensure the 'bloodline' remains healthy and stable, from now on, your diet, your sleep—everything will be 'managed' by professionals." His gaze dropped to her hand, where her phone was still clutched tight—the last remaining thread of her connection to the outside world. "Your phone, your laptop—anything that allows you to contact the outside—I'll take care of it."

A guard stepped forward, polite yet firm, and gently disarmed her. Emilia watched with cold eyes as her only "weapon," her link to the world, was taken away. The chilling, brutal reality of her situation descended upon her like a sharp blade—yet it only stoked her vigilance and defiance all the more.

Delano leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper in her ear, devoid of any warmth or humanity. "Emilia, I gave you a choice. Now, welcome to your new cage." He straightened up, cast one last look at her as if she were a precious but unruly animal, and turned to leave. The heavy door clicked shut behind him with a reverberating finality—like an ultimate, condemning verdict sealing her fate.

Emilia threw herself at the door, shaking the handle in futile fury, but it was locked from the outside. She did not slump to the floor. Instead, she pressed her back against the cold, unyielding wood, her chest heaving. This lavish bedroom, once a symbol of her privileged life, now stood as a gilded prison. Silk sheets, antique furniture, priceless art—all were merely exquisite bars on her cage, and in that moment, they became the very restraints she had to shatter.

She did not cry. Tears were useless—a luxury she could not afford, a weakness she refused to show. Instead, a fire kindled in her eyes, fiercer and more unyielding than ever. Delano had underestimated her. He thought he had trapped her, broken her will—but he had only stoked her resolve. He had revealed his true face, and in doing so, freed her from any lingering illusions. She had to get out.

She had to break free.

No matter the cost.